|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
 Storyteller Katherine McLeod
in front of the screes. |
As a storyteller, I am constantly diving into my imagination, searching
for images and pictures that can be put to good use in stories and performances.
Over the years, I have had the good fortune to travel to a variety of unique destinations and meet so many amazing people. Each person and place along the way has added a beautiful richness and dimension to the stories I have brought to audiences around the world.
As a modern day storyteller, I deem visiting places both within and without of myself with equal importance. |
|
| Tales of a Modern Day Storyteller - Part I |
Last April was a time of outward travel, and at this time I found myself in the UK for performance work and a storytelling festival in the North of England (Leeds). Easter weekend provided a fantastic reprieve, and wonderful time to travel to two places I had always wanted to see... the Lake District, and Robin Hood's Bay.
My dear friend Janet Mann and her husband were kind enough to put me up for a couple of days at their home in Cumbria, and drive me to one of the most rugged spots in the District, the valley of Wasdale which is inhabited by the famously deep Lake Wastwater. After rounding a corner on the road, we were unexpectedly met by some friendly sheep crawling through a "sheep creep" (small hole) in a drystone wall. Coming from Canada where our fences tend to be wire or wood, seeing endless miles of stone barriers was truly remarkable to these Canadian eyes. Apparently the drystone wall is built without mortar, and takes a high degree of skill. It all started when feudalism ended and landowners sectioned off what was previously common land to make way for fenced in livestock. All stones used were gathered from the fields, making the drystone wall a suitable method to further clear the land! This type of enclosure is found mostly in the north of England, Scotland, and Ireland.
Click here for more interesting facts about drystone walls.
|
 My two sheep friends about to push their way through the "sheep creep" - a small hole in the drystone wall. |
 A close-up of the drystone wall. Note how there is absolutely no mortor holding this up! These walls are apparently impossible to push over (thank goodness for that). |
 A spectacular view of the simple, beautiful ruggedness of Wasdale Valley, and Lake Wastwater. |
|
After a few photo opportunities of the sheep and walls, we made our way to Lake Wastwater. The view was stunning…
The tall screes fell from blue skies to the dark, cool lake. This astounding sight, along with a slight breeze, and fresh spring air told me I had arrived at somewhere both special and vital. The screes appear at a distance to be earthen mountains, but are actually formed out of loose stone (gneiss) that is unique to the area. These hills or screes are dangerous to climb. In the olden golden days they used to have races from top to bottom, and those who didn't survive were buried in the yard of what they refer to as "the climber's church" at the base of the mountains.
The church is tiny, and surrounding it (aside from the climbers gravestones) is drystone wall equipped with a "kissing gate" that was used to allow people in and keep the animals out.
Along the inside of the wall are several Yew trees. The Yew tree has much significance across a number of cultures.
In Britain some of the most ancient Yews are 4,ooo years old. I suppose it is not surprising then that the Yew "is associated with immortality, renewal, everlasting life, re-birth, and transformation". That's an awful lot of meaning for one breed of tree!
Click here for more information about the Yew.
|
 Wonderful hosts Jan and
Geoff Mann. |
 The climber's church nestled among Yews and surrounded by drystone wall. |
 A closer look at the church, and the kissing gate to your right. These gates were designed to allow people in and keep the livestock out! |
|
After a couple of sunny warm days spent in Cumbria and the Lake District, I made my way to Robin Hoods Bay with another lovely friend, storyteller Alan Sparkes. This trip to the UK marked my first time to the North of England, and it had been my dream as a child to go to Robin Hood's Bay in Yorkshire, the birthplace of my maternal Grandfather whom we affectionately called "Big Richard" (even though he was very short!)
Big Richard was one of the best storytellers in our family, and told a rocking good version of "Jack and the Beanstalk".
He would also talk about his childhood, living by the sea, running in races along the winding roads at the top of the moors. He often talked about how cold it was growing up by the ocean, and how bitter and damp the winds could get. After my visit to Robin Hood's Bay, I could understand what he meant. Here was a picturesque little seaside village, with sloping cliffs, and a sea that had the ability of both calm and calamity.
|
 |
Just seeing the sign for Robin Hood's Bay filled me with a surge of excitement! |
 |
Atop of the sloping moors, seeing the red-tiled roofs of Robin Hood's Bay in the distance, arriving at last. |
|
| It was pure magic to see the red-tiled roofs from afar as we approached Robin Hood's Bay, as Big Richard had so often sent postcards of the quaint village homes when he went back to visit. As we entered the village, however, my excitement turned from light-hearted inquisitiveness to frustration. Where had my Grandfather lived, where was his old family home, and where had they played as children. Each step through the village led me more and more into regret that I had not visited this town with my grandfather, and now, 2 years after his death at the age of 90, those opportunities were gone.
|
And later, with this sad realization, came two things.
The first, I had heard his stories when I was younger, and his Robin Hood's Bay is forever a part of me. As a storyteller,
I have been enriched through his imagination, and he was one of the reasons for my choice of life directions, and for this, I am thankful.
The second and final thing I realized is how we can spend our life in regret of what we haven't done, instead of looking at what we have experienced. Even though Big Richard and I never made that journey together in the "real life" physical sense, he was with me every step of the way (and still is!)
Click here to find out more about one of Yorkshires sweetest little fishing villages.
|
 Small alleyways and quaint little cottages in the old part of town. |
 Wondering if this is a place that Big Richard played as a child with his friends, imaging him as a boy, running through tight spaces, trying to stay out of trouble. |
 A look at the waters on a calm Easter spring day, the cliffs creeping down to the sea. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
